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For a few months I’ve been in love with my classmate Keisha. She was beautiful. Her golden hair fell to half a slim waist. She sat in front of me, and when the sun shone in the classroom and hit her hair in brilliant glare, she was eating the mane, and the springs were airborne, I wanted to gently poke my fingers in the flood and lace her tiny ear. Often I was so out of my mind and stuck in the notion that I did not see the events in the classroom and blurred most of the interpretation.